


Numb

by whenindoubtblamekirk



Category: The Oregon Files - Clive Cussler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenindoubtblamekirk/pseuds/whenindoubtblamekirk
Summary: Y/N finally decides to talk to someone about her struggles, and that person turns out to be Juan.
Kudos: 1





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Please, if you get triggered by self-harm or other mental health issue topics, don't read this!

You stare down at your numb hands as you make your way to the moon pool, your heart fluttering. Half of you prays Juan is there, but the other half just as forcefully hopes he isn’t.

Walking down the metal staircase, you eye him doing his usual laps. Taking a shaky breath, you force yourself to walk to the pool, each step taking all of your willpower. 

Juan notices you and begins to slow, finishing his last lap before heading your way. 

_ Too late now. _

He grins and pulls up his goggles, bobbing in the water. “Hey, Y/N. Not used to seeing you down here.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Juan must notice, because he frowns. 

“Everything okay?”

The question makes you bite your lip.  _ There’s still time to lie. To leave. _

You swallow hard as tears threaten to well in your eyes. “Everything’s fine,” you answer automatically. 

He eyes you, not convinced, and sits up on the side of the pool, his blue swim trunks sticking to his legs. “Sit.” He pats the white tile next to him. 

Cautiously, you sit down, keeping your mouth shut. 

After a minute of silence, he finally says quietly, “I knew you’d come find me eventually.”

You’re taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He studies you with concern. “Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been acting strangely for a few weeks now.”

Staring off into space, you realize how long it's been since the start of this episode. Though the days blend together, you quickly do the math and realize he’s right. It’s been two and half weeks. 

“I’m fine I’m just…” You trail off, lost in thought.  _ Anxious? Depressed? Sleep deprived? Dehydrated? What do I even say? _

Juan takes in the bags under your eyes, then points to the tiny pocket knife in your hands. “What’s that for?”

Silently cursing, you hadn’t realized you brought it with you. You instinctively tug at your long sleeves. “Nothing I just-”

“Y/N,” Juan’s voice is soft. Placing a hand under your chin, he forces you to look at him. “what’s going on?”

Against your will, a tear streams down your face. “I-I can’t-” Like floodgates opening, you begin to cry. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Juan’s eyes go wide as you collapse against him. Taking your tiny, shaking frame into his arms, he soothes you. Though the water soaks your shirt, you barely even feel it. Juan gently pulls at your sleeves, tugging them down around your elbows. You’re too numb to care.

He gasps a little, taking in the angry red cuts on your forearms. Resting his chin on the top of your head, he asks quietly, “Did you do these yourself?”

You sob in response. “I-I can’t s-stop...”

Juan’s large hand slips down over yours and takes the pocketknife out of your shaking hand. “This isn’t okay, Y/N.”

“I c-can’t st-stop,” you repeat.

He pulls you back and forces you to make eye contact. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Your eyes widen at how unsurprised he is. “D-did you… know?”

He stares off. “Not this specifically, but I had my suspicions. I waited for you to make the right decision. To come to me, or someone else on the crew. I knew pushing it might make whatever it is worse.”

Choking out a sob, panic begins to overtake you. “I sh-should go. I shouldn’t have-” Your chest heaves as more tears stream down your face. “I-I-” you falter. 

Juan grips you tightly. “Y/N, you did the right thing. Don’t leave, okay?”

“I’m f-fine,” you say, your voice hoarse as you begin to stumble over your words. You pull away from him, your head starting to spin. “I-I sh-should g-go.”

Juan looks past you and nods to someone. Suddenly, Julia Huxley settles down next to you. He wasn’t kidding about expecting this. She places a calming hand on your back as your breathing quickens. “It’s okay, sweetie. Just breathe.”

You try to take in shallow breath, your chest shaking. Juan gently pulls you closer as Huxley whispers soothingly. 

“We’re proud of you, kid,” Juan says quietly. “For coming to us.”

You wheeze in response, your mind racing. 

_ I shouldn’t have told them. _

_ What if they hate me? _

_ I want to do it. _

_ So badly. _

Your arms begin to itch and you swallow hard. You pull against Juan, your head aching as urges hit you like a train. Juan frowns at Huxley, who takes her hand off your back. 

“What is it, sweetie?”

You don’t respond, desperate to reach your arm, to pick at the cuts, to ground yourself with the pain. Gasping for air, your fingers find a particularly deep one, and you begin to scratch numbly, pain stinging your skin. A strange sense of relief washes over you as the pain helps to slow your pounding heart. 

Juan quickly grabs your hand and pulls your bloody fingertips away. “No, Y/N!”

You flinch at his loud voice and stare at the cuts. Blood oozes down from your forearm and drips onto his swim trunks, making purple dots. 

“Let’s get her to medbay,” Huxley whispers, standing. The two of them begin to pull you to your feet.

You groan as the room spins, sucking in a short breath. Juan and Huxley each grip a hand, ensuring you can’t do any more damage. In his other hand, Juan holds your pocket knife. 

He catches you eyeing it and quickly closes it in his palm, out of sight. Squeezing your hand, the three of you begin the slow and unsteady walk to medbay.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Juan says gently. 

You glance up at him, uncertain. “Are you mad?” you ask, your voice tiny. Before he can respond, you trip over yourself and fall to the ground. 

Laying on the floor, you stare up at the ceiling. The pain in your arms fights with the cold numbness in the rest of your body. You slowly look around, your limbs heavy. “This is okay…”

Juan and Huxley share a look before they both lean over and pull you back up. Juan lays a steadying hand on your shoulder as Huxley guides you with the other arm towards the medbay doors. Pushing them open with her back, she motions to a hospital bed. 

“Let’s get those cleaned up, okay?”

You nod numbly as you sit on the soft bed. The clock on the wall reads 1:34 am. 

Huxley pulls out some sterile, white bandages and antibiotic cream. Gently taking your hand in hers, she pushes up your sleeve and gets to work. 

You stare as she wipes the cream on your cuts, enjoying the sting. Juan taps your leg, forcing you to look away. 

“How long has it been since you’ve slept? Or eaten?”

Staring numbly, the thought of food makes you sick. As for sleep, you’re sure he already knows the answer just looking at you. 

Huxley finishes with your left arm and moves onto your right. Juan settles on the bed next to you. “How about after this we get some sleep?”

You don’t respond. Instead, you simply lean your head on his arm.

Huxley stops her work for a second and looks up at the two of you. “I think that’s a good idea.”

After a few minutes, Hux finishes and lays a hand on your leg. “Alright, sweetie. Why don’t you go get some rest, and tomorrow we can talk, okay?”

You bite your lip nervously, but before you can spiral again, Juan rubs his hand on your back. You let out a breath and slump, giving in.

Taking this as an okay, Juan gently helps you up and guides you out of medbay and down the halls. You frown after a few minutes.

“Where are we going?” you ask quietly. “My cabin was back down that hall.”

He nods. “I know.” Arriving at a door, he quietly opens it. “You’re going to stay with me tonight, okay?”

As the two of you walk into the room, your eyes go wide, realizing you’re in the Chairman’s cabin. Pointing to his bed, he walks over and pulls back the sheets. “You can stay here if you’d like.”

Your face burns. “What about you?”

He chuckles. “I’m taking the couch.”

Eyes wide, you begin to protest. “Chairman, I can’t take your-”

“Y/N.” He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Get some rest.”

Realizing he isn’t just suggesting as much as gently ordering, you give in and cross to the bed. Collapsing onto it, fatigue takes over. Your eyelids get heavy as he walks over to you. 

“And to answer your question,” he whispers, kneeling in front of you. “I’m not angry. I just want you to get better.” 

The last thing you feel is him pulling the warm blankets up around you as you drift off, an unexpected sense of relief washing over you. You close your eyes and fall asleep. 


End file.
